Monsters Don't Feel
by ScaryRomantic
Summary: Cato and Clove had an odd relationship. They loved each other, but it took until they were in the arena to admit it to themselves. One-shot, Clato.


Cato and Clove were an odd couple. If you could even put that label on them—it might be a bit too precise. No one could ever figure them out; not as individuals, and certainly not together. Sometimes when they were together with friends, Cato would lace his fingers through Clove's small ones, and she would shake him off, placing her hands firmly in her lap. He would clench his jaw in frustration, his always short temper taking over. But he'd take the anger out later, maybe on her. Sometimes Clove would wrap her arms around Cato's torso, laying her head on his chest, listening to his heart begin to beat faster. Sometimes he would return the embrace, holding her in his strong arms, and other times he would roughly shove her away, asking her what the hell she thought she was doing.

No one could figure them out, including themselves. Their love life, when it existed, was not short of passion. The two of them held an unbelievable amount of anger inside of them, and deep down, the same amount of love. But the love that was locked away inside of them was so hard to reach, would take years and years and years to find, and that's why it scared them so much when they felt the chains of that love rattle. It was when they were around each other. And they just didn't know how to deal with it. It scared them—any sort of emotion. It scared them far more than shiny weapons and slaughtering children ever could. Because Cato and Clove were, you could say, raised backwards. They were trained to think everything that is so horribly wrong is right, and everything that should be right— love, compassion—was wrong. It was wrong to _feel_, because feelings are something that can get in the way when you're bringing a knife down on someone.

"_Why_? Why do you do this to me?" Cato finally asked her one day. Things, as usual between them, had been getting heated; their relationship was lust, and nothing more (although it really was, but the two of them never would—or mentally, physically _could_—admit that to themselves). And Clove had refused him again. "What more do you want from me?" He asked her, his tone nearing the point of desperation as he placed his hands on either side of her face, staring into her cold eyes.

"Nothing." She had responded coldly. "I don't want anything more from you. That's why."

Cato felt fury course through his veins as he glared at the girl in his hands. She was so beautifully breakable. He could crush her porcelain face in his hands right now. But he wouldn't. He wanted to admit, so badly, that he had feelings for her. And that he knew she returned them. But this was complicated to people like them, and almost impossible. So he clenched his teeth again, and Clove watched the bones in his jaw pop in and out, as she had so many times before. She wanted to reach out to him, to trace his jaw with her fingertips, to tell him that she _did _want him. But she wouldn't. Of course she wouldn't.

Clove did things like this to test him all the time, more than he did to her. But the biggest of all was reaping day. Clove knew Cato was going to volunteer; they had said their proper goodbyes the night before, but nothing mushy because they both knew he would be coming back. Clove almost broke down that night. After their regular intimacies, she lay with him longer than usual and told him to tell her about how he would kill everyone. She had half listened to him describe brutal, torturous deaths. And when he was finished, she told him she was going to volunteer, as well.

Cato sat up, looking at her. "You still have another year, Clove. I don't." he said. "Why don't you wait? Wait until next year so I can win my Games and you can win yours. And then…we can be together. Without the complications."

"There will always be complications." Clove said, pressing her lips together tightly as she felt an unfamiliar tickling in her throat, the sting of tears threatening to pool in her eyes. But she kept them down.

"But there won't have to be anymore. There won't be." Cato insisted. It was the most open they'd ever been to each other, or to anyone, and it was a strange feeling, but it was a good one.

"But we're not going to be together forever." Clove said. "We never were. It's just one of those flings."

Cato didn't say anything for a long moment, looking at the floor. "Yeah." He finally replied, his voice quiet.

They were both lying. And they both knew it. But everyone knows it's far easier to accept a lie when the truth hurts. And the truth for the young couple hurt badly. Which is why they covered it.

Their first night on the train, when Clove snuck across the hall into Cato's room, he was angry. He was furious. But he kissed her anyway—a kiss that left her lips bruised and swollen, but a kiss nonetheless—and punched his fist through the wall he had her pressed up against. He wanted to kill her. Why would she do this? She cared about him and he knew it. So why?

But that was just it. She cared about him. And as said before, love scared the both of them. So she did what she was trained to do with her problems, with her fears; she got rid of them. The only way to remove that weak spot from her life was to do it directly, by herself. And so she did.

They didn't speak to each other much after the night on the train. Not like they used to, anyway. The spoke to each other the way that they now should – like allies. Strictly business. They formed the Career pack with all the tributes from One and Four. During training they'd separate, half for the purpose of observing the other tributes more thoroughly and half because distancing themselves now would just make it easier.

In the arena, they kept up the same façade. At times it'd be like it sometimes was back home; they'd joke around, tease each other, argue over who gets the next kill. They argued a lot, about anything and everything. Until they'd driven their other allies insane. But it was the only way they could express any strong form of emotion towards one another, and so they did.

As time went on, both of them slowly began to admit it to themselves. Not out loud, no; but they wouldn't shoo the thought out of their minds as soon as it entered. They loved each other, they were in love. But it was too late now, and Clove hated herself. Absolutely _despised _herself. Why did she do this? How could she have been so foolish? Unfortunately, it took the Hunger Games to humble her to this point, and there was no going back.

The night the rule change was announced, they slipped up. It had been only the two of them left in the alliance, and they knew it might have been getting suspicious that they weren't parting ways yet. When Ceaser's voice came overhead, they were sitting by a poorly made fire, for neither of them had ever wanted to waste time training with anything but weapons. Clove was sharpening her knives and Cato was sorting through supplies; anything to pass the time. As soon as the announcement was finished, the two looked up at each other, their gazes locking. And then Clove stood up and threw her arms around him, not saying a word. And Cato hugged her back. But as soon as he did, they both froze. Had they given themselves away? They despised the "star-crossed lovers" from District Twelve for stealing sponsors with such a pathetic act; they wouldn't want to resort to it themselves. But then Cato squeezed her tighter for a moment before letting go. They were both over-reacting; even though on the surface they had barely reacted at all. When they pulled away, Clove smiled at him. A genuine smile. It was the first time he'd seen it in the arena. Clove had a chance to right the wrong she made by volunteering. They could go home together. Be victorious together. Spend their lives together. Simply _be _together.

And then the feast came. After a great amount of negotiation, Clove convinced Cato to let her kill Katniss Everdeen. They had both agreed that Cato wouldn't have the patience for the slow death that Katniss truly deserved, and that was what settled it. When Clove was crouching behind the bushes at the edge of the forest, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to stay warm, she felt a hand on her elbow. Turning around, she met Cato's intense gaze. The plan was that he'd be in the woods, not too far, ready to come to her should she need it. They were both confident that she wouldn't, but they wouldn't allow themselves to get too confident in the fact. That would lead them to be foolish. As the two of them often were when victory was in their sights, as it so was now.

"Be careful." He told her.

"I know." She said, somewhat dismissively, turning her eyes back to the cornucopia. She didn't want to lose her focus.

"Clove." He said her name with authority, and she looked over her shoulder once again to look into his blue eyes. "I mean it."

Clove gave him a look, certain he was overreacting. "I'll be fine, Cato."

He nodded, and then disappeared into the thick foliage. His grip on his spear was too tight. Cato could fully admit to himself that he was worried sick about her. But Clove was skilled, so skilled that she'd fought her way up to train with children far older than herself, so skilled that every trainer back at Two beamed with pride at the thought of her. She was powerful. She was trained. And she was going to be fine.

But she wasn't.

When Cato heard her scream, it pierced straight through his heart. He instantly turned around and sprinted, hearing her call out his name yet again. He shouted her name in reply, panic taking over him as millions of thoughts flitted through his mind. But one stood out the most; he wasn't going to get to her in time. He wasn't going to get there, and she was going to die. Cato had allowed himself to wander too far, lost in his thoughts. If only he had the sharp focus that Clove did. The thought of her brought on another wave of panic and he forced himself to sprint even faster.

Once the tree line was in his sight, it seemed to take hours to get there, even though he was sprinting as fast as he could. He burst through the trees, finally, and almost doubled over in the pain he felt because of the sight in front of him. "Clove!" He yelled again, not quite as loud this time. It was a strangled cry. The kind you can barely manage when you see the one you love about to die before your eyes.

The boy from Eleven was standing over her, rock in hand, and Clove was frantic. Cato knew her thoughts weren't in place, and there was no way she could escape this boy. He barely even registered Fire Girl standing at the edge of the forest. As soon as Cato took a step forward, willing himself to move through the fear that was paralyzing him, Eleven brought the rock down onto her head.

_No!_ Cato wanted to yell, but he couldn't bring himself to speak. He couldn't move. He couldn't even think. She wasn't moving. Why wasn't she moving? Get up, Clove. Why wasn't she fighting back? Cato's throat tightened; a feeling he wasn't used to. And then he ran the remaining distance between him and Clove, dropping to his knees beside her. He was gripping his spear so tight that his knuckles turned white, but he didn't even notice. He looked down at Clove. She looked so lifeless. Like a doll. And he hated it.

"Clove." He whispered, sweeping a piece of her hair away from her face. "Clove, please. Clove, don't leave me."

Clove could hardly process a full thought. Slowly, she could feel every single part of her beginning to shut down. Every organ, every feeling. But she could see the blue eyed boy above her, the boy she loved. She struggled to move her lips, to tell him that she was sorry. Even through the chaos going on inside of her body, Clove was shocked when she saw a tear roll down his cheek. She moved a shaking hand to cover his big one on the side of her face. "Win." She managed to whisper.

"No." Cato said, his voice firmer this time. "You're not leaving me. We're going to win together. We're going to go home. We're going to be together."

Clove felt her heart breaking inside, amongst everything that was already broken. This was her fault. If she hadn't volunteered, he would have won – just like he was going to, and he would have come home to her. And they could have been together.

He could feel her slipping away from him. He could feel her leaving. "Clove." He pleaded one more time, although he knew it wasn't her choice to stay. Her hand started to go slack against his. "I love you." he whispered to her, not even caring that he was crying in the middle of the Hunger Games. She looked up at him, her cinnamon eyes meeting his blue ones. And although she was too weak to speak, she told him in that look. Cato knew. She loved him, too. And then her eyes fluttered closed, and her cannon fired.

Cato knelt next to her body still, just staring at her, fury boiling up inside of him. He didn't move until the sound of the hovercraft came over him. Slowly, he rose to his feet, and he knew that the fury was plain on his face. Not even the clean trails through the dirt on his face, made by his rarely shed tears, could make him any less intimidating than he looked at that moment. An anger he'd never felt before had come over him, an anger directed at the boy from District Eleven.

The sky seemed to darken, and the smell of rain was carried to him in the wind. He stepped over Clove's body, his eyes straight ahead, focused on the tall grass which Thresh had escaped to. He was going to murder that boy in the most brutal way anyone could ever imagine. No – worse than anyone could ever imagine. And he did. By the time he was finished, the boy from Eleven was hardly recognizable. Through the pouring rain, Cato stood above the tattered and torn remains of Thresh's body. And he smiled at the horrible sight. A bolt of lightning flashed, making him seem even more sinister. The death had even made some of the Capitol citizens cringe. And he loved it. He had avenged his Clove in the best way he possibly could.

But he didn't win. She asked him to, but he just couldn't. And in his last miserable hours of life, while he was being ripped apart and scratched by endless teeth and claws, he thought of her. Clove got him through it. He imagined her telling him to suck it up, to stick through it, like she did whenever he got an injury in training. And so he did. He found comfort in the fact that now that he was going to die, they could be together. In whatever place awaited them, they would be together. Finally. And that was all that mattered.

In death, both of them realized that their relationship wasn't all that complicated after all. As long as they were together, they were happy. They had been told they wanted one thing – Victory. And so that's what they thought they wanted as they went through their lives. But when they were so close to achieving it, the Victory didn't matter. Nothing mattered except for the two of them. And when Cato's cannon fired, he didn't mind at all. He died thinking of Clove, and knowing that they could now be together.


End file.
